At Sunrise Point at sunrise

If you think, “Hey, let’s get up while it’s still dark so we can be at the rim of Bryce Canyon for sunrise,” know that you’re not the only one thinking the same thing. When something is named Sunrise Point folks tend to go there for the sunrise. 

You could find yourself in a conga line driving down Highway 63 to the park. You could find yourself hunting for a parking space. Or you could find yourself wishing you had dressed warmer now that it’s autumn.

But I went anyway.

The sun was cresting the horizon just as I approached the rim. I had timed it perfectly. Sometimes guessing works out as well as meticulous planning. It wasn’t one of those alone-with-the-majesty-of-nature moments but I was happy to be there nonetheless.

Dubious detour

I have to wonder what the situation was on the regular forest road that made the detour seem like a better choice. A large puddle? A dead cow? (There’s open range about a quarter mile away.) 

Whatever the reason, I can imagine how the driver felt. I’ve done a similar thing more than once. Such is life off pavement.

And right now there are a bunch of victims of tropical storm Helene who, if their vehicles weren’t washed away, will be making iffy route decisions. Is the mud dry enough to drive on? How deep is it? Is there any pavement left underneath or is there a drop-off? Is there any road left at all beyond what I can see from here? Should I turn around? Is there room to turn around? And so on.

It’s easy for me to be smug and think (or say out loud), “Hell, I live in a van and I would’ve fled the region at the first word of an approaching storm, if for no other reason than I don’t like massive amounts of rain very much.”  But I have enough empathy and humanity to feel ashamed when I think that.

May you not get mired down — literally and metaphorically. Make wise choices, and drive on.

It was too warm in Kanab, so my choice was to head northward and to higher elevation near Bryce Canyon.

On to Utah

From Jacob Lake AZ the closest town of any useful size is Kanab UT. I needed to do laundry and there’s a laundromat in Kanab I had used once several years ago. The plan was to do laundry and then continue northward, out of Kanab’s heat, to Bryce Canyon which is at 8,000 feet. But by the time I got off my butt, drove the 37 miles to Kanab, had a late lunch, then washed and folded my laundry, it was 4:30. It would be about an hour and a half to get to Bryce. That would be around sunset, which is not the best time to be looking for a campsite. Besides, there are a couple of small things I’d like to see near Kanab. So I decided to stay in the area. I found this nice campsite a couple of miles north of town. Hmmmm… Maybe I’ll stay a few days if it doesn’t get too hot. 

Leaf peeping in Northern Arizona

In June of 2020 the human-caused “Magnum Fire” burned 71,450 cares of forest on the Kaibab Plateau at Jacob Lake. When you drive through the fire zone today you see the conifers have been decimated but aspens have taken over like gangbusters. And right now they’re glorious yellow.

Breakfast IS the most important meal of the day. Sometimes.

I was eager this morning to set out on the Cape Final Trail at the North Rim of Grand Canyon. “Have some breakfast first,” I told myself. But I got caught up in other preparations and… I was about a quarter mile along the trail when I remembered I hadn’t eaten. And I hadn’t consumed much the day before. I should have returned to the Rolling Steel Tent and at least made some eggs. But I was fixated on my hiking goal. And I didn’t want to re-climb the hill I had just slogged up. “If I don’t eat I’ll burn off more of the flab I’ve accumulated. Right?”

After the first mile it became obvious the weakness I felt was more than just being out of shape. I was stopping every few hundred yards to rest. My legs were getting shaky. There was some dizziness.

Not too many years ago, when my philosophy was to avoid exertion, I would have thrown in the towel and turned around, lecturing myself on the way back about the folly of exercise. But now a louder voice was telling me to keep going, to not wimp out. When did I become one of those Press On Regardless types?

The crew that built the trail seemed to have thoughtfully placed downed trees at intervals just right for fools like me to sit on and recover. Or sort of recover.

I made it all the way to Point Final. I didn’t go out to the very tip because my balance and footing were not good by then. But I sat and sat and sat nearby, enjoying the view, congratulating my dubious determination, trying to feel somewhat stable again.

On the way back I realized what I was feeling was most likely hypoglycemia. That’s some serious stuff. I took it extra easy, stopping more often and resting longer. I thought about asking passing hikers if they had some kind of snack they could spare, but my embarrassment stopped me. I should have brought something with me, but, like I said, I started out with other things on my mind. Besides, it was only a four-mile hike. It wouldn’t take long. It ended up taking five hours.

That hill at the beginning was now my friend. It was downhill to the van. Once there I downed two big chocolate cookies and collapsed on the bed. I had made it. I hadn’t died. I didn’t need to be rescued. I had been very stupid. I made a sandwich once I was able. Then napped some more. And thought about my mistakes.

Onward and upward

Loaded up on groceries. Got an oil change and full tank of gas. I was ready to go. This would be a familiar drive. Up US-89 out of Flagstaff, past the San Francisco Peaks and volcanic remnants, through grasslands into the Navajo Nation, increasingly harsh landscape, red rock country, splitting onto US-89A, then a turn south at Navajo bridge over the Colorado River, cruising along the edge of Vermillion Cliffs, then climbing back up onto the northern part of the Kaibab Plateau to a boondocking spot among the pines.

Navajo Bridge is actually two bridges: one for vehicles and one for pedestrians. The bridges were built back in a time when they believed public works could do more than the absolute minimum.

A short hoodoo at the base of Vermillion Cliffs

Happy Rock is happy you’re happy

This will be home for a few days

From here it’s an hour drive through forest and pasture to the North Rim of Grand Canyon. But first I’ll spend a day or two just hanging at camp, doing nothing much, enjoying milder temperatures, shade, and the luxury of not needing to do anything. I think I’ll make some brunch now.

Change of course, of course

My work at Tom’s place is done, and since I was out of some essential supplies that would mean leaving Tom’s place, it was a good time to get back on the road. The weather has been nice, and I certainly haven’t needed to worry about being chased away by law enforcement, but after three weeks in one place I need a change of scenery.

So, where to? It’s still too hot to the south and west. It’s mighty warm in southeastern Utah. The Navajo Nation and Hopi are to the east where I can’t really camp. How about due north? I could go to the north rim of Grand Canyon before they close the highway for the winter on October 1. Then I could continue north into Grand Staircase-Escalante, Bryce Canyon, and so on until it got too cold. But what about hanging out along the Mogollon Rim? Payson to Show Low to Alpine? Still at elevation above the desert heat? Yeah, that sounds good, and it’s not as far. Just a pleasant drive through mostly wooded areas.

But as I read about a point of interest along the way there was a notice about a wildfire. Hmmmm… So I checked Inciweb to see what was up. Holy cow! Fires all across central Arizona. But central southern Utah was clear, and the forecast temperatures weren’t bad. So that’s the plan. At the moment. You know about me and plans.

Oh what a feeling, working on the ceiling

My homesteading stroke victim friend, Tom, originally said he needed help installing a wood stove. I had never done such a thing but imagined I could figure it out. However, Tom found a guy with a stove installation business. I agreed that was the better course of action, so I had no problem with being replaced.

“I need the ceiling insulated and covered, though. Is that something you can do?”  Since I had done some walls in the past I told him that was within my skill set. But drywalling a ceiling alone would be extremely difficult. So Tom called on his semi-nomad neighbor and fellow stroke survivor, Dean.

I did the insulation alone without any trouble. Insulation is a little cumbersome but light. Tom acquired the drywall and other necessities and rented a drywall ceiling jack. Dean and I got to work and finished the job in a few hours. The hardest part, other than the lifting, was measuring to fit the irregularities of the simple 9x15 building. Pros would have done the job faster and better, but I think we did a rather good job for a couple of amateurs. I could add it to my résumé if I were job hunting. Otherwise it’s just fodder for stories. And a step forward in winterizing Tom’s home.

The walls will be done later. There’s some professional prep work that needs to be done first. All the drywall will be taped, mudded and painted too.

Oh, and I have shaved my beard again

After two weeks of staying a few miles down the road from Grand Canyon I figured it was time to take advantage of a break in the winterizing work and make my annual pilgrimage. Sunrise and sunset are the best times. I got to the canyon at about 6:15 AM. Fewer visitors but a stiff wind made it rather chilly. But I still loved it.

Looking east at sunset

Maxfield Parrish was an early 20th century painter known for his rich colors and stylized neoclassical compositions, many of them set at “golden hour” with backgrounds of billowing cumulus clouds. I mention him because we had that type of sky yesterday evening.

We tend to watch the western sky at sunset, but sometimes the show is in the opposite direction. Life can be like that too, with our attention on one thing (often on something others say we should concentrate on) while oblivious to other possibilities.

Two curiosities

1. I discovered the paw prints of a cat on my windshield. I’m guessing it was from a neighbor’s cat or a feral one. Either way, I hope it was on rodent patrol.

2. Sedans are a dying breed as pickups, SUVs and crossovers take over the automotive market. Furthermore, sedans are even more rare out here in the rural West where trucks are king. So when I was driving Highway 180 to Flagstaff this morning I was surprised to see a cluster of seven late model sedans of various makes driving the other way. Perhaps they were the entire Arizona Sedan Owners’ Club headed to Grand Canyon.

I’m incrementally less ignorant today

I realized something today worthy of a self-administered head smack. Like most red-blooded ‘Mericans, I was raised without the metric system. I think it was because they wanted us to suffer more. Anyway, now and then I take a stab at using metric. The other day I flipped the switch on my digital thermometer so I could start making a connection between degrees Celsius and what it feels like. For example, when I started writing this it was 30°C and felt rather warm. It’s about 86°F. Okay, I’ll use that as a reference point.

Now, about that realization: As a metrically-impaired person I looked at the two scales and thought, “Fahrenheit has 180 increments between freezing and boiling but Celsius has only 100 increments, so Fahrenheit is more precise.”  

But then my thermometer changed to 28.7°C. Oh!!! (head smack) Decimals! Duh! Both the C and F scales can use them, so there’s an infinite number of increments. A little pothole of my ignorance has been filled.

Net access

A few weeks ago I wrote how delighted (and somewhat concerned) I was to not be bothered by bugs in the Pacific Northwest. But now I’m back in the high desert and so are the bugs. Flies during the day, moths and other flying annoyances at night. The most annoying insects are the tiny flies that never land anywhere for more than a sixteenth of a second. And some variety of small nocturnal pest that always wants to tickle the crook of my right arm. It’s too warm to seal up the Rolling Steel Tent, And even though I’ve had eleven years to figure out some type of convenient screen system, well, I haven’t. So the simplest thing I can do it toss netting over me.

I’m starting to yearn for the coast when I’m done here. Or is autumn high bug season there?

Rolling wood building

My friend, Tom, is an on-and-off nomad who seems to be settling into an extended off period. Maybe a permanent one. He bought a small bit of property in the high desert of Arizona and installed a prefabricated tiny house a while back. Then a couple of days ago he had a tiny barn delivered.

I had never witnessed the delivery of prefabricated buildings before. I had imagined it would be about the same as a shipping container brought to another friend’s place in Colorado: back the truck up to the designated spot, tilt the bed, slide structure off until one end hits the ground, then drive out from under it. Scrape thud scrape boom. But this was much fancier — and far more appropriate for stick-built structures rather than steel boxes.

The barn was slid off a low tilt-bed trailer by a small tractor/forklift. Then it was shoved down the driveway and nimbly maneuvered into place. Pretty slick.

Tom is pleased

As Tom explained his vision for the barn and the rest of the property I thought how different our needs, desires and goals were. He has grand plans while I was thinking if I got a piece of land (an idea that feels alien to me) the most I’d want is a sufficiently smooth access road, a patio/parking slab, and a pit toilet. A place to simply be — once in a while.

My ideals are different from Tom’s. They were different from Lou’s. And that’s okay. Universal agreement and conformity are not necessary. It’s only a problem if a person is unable to live the way that makes them happy. I’m lucky.

Mind-altering experience

Conventional vehicle-dwelling wisdom holds that it’s a lot easier staying in the boondocks than in cities. Civilization is filled with laws and folks hostile to those living in unconventional ways. Sooner or later law enforcement or irate neighbors will come a-knockin’.

Yet my friend, Scott, has spent almost a decade living in a van up and down the West Coast — all in cities. Without trying to be stealthy. And never with any encounters. I was skeptical. I thought he was just incredibly lucky.

But since I was committed to going to Vancouver Island to take Lou’s ashes out to sea, and since there was triple-digit heat inland, I decided to take the coastal route. 

I had concluded years ago there was no such thing as free camping anywhere near the ocean. Except for the driveways of good friends, it was all private property, military facilities, or paid campgrounds that required reservations months in advance. Scott and some online resources provided some location tips, and I headed out.

My first shock was Huntington Beach. I had lived there back in the 90s. How could I get away with overnighting on one of its streets? Perfectly well, it turns out. It was just a matter of finding the right type of place. In this case it was a divided boulevard between upscale residential developments. There were tennis courts on one side and a berm on the other that blocked the view of the homes and the homeowners’ view of the various live-aboard rigs parked on the street. Police and private security vehicles passed now and then, never stopping. Well I’ll be.

Encouraged by my experience in Huntington Beach, I continued northward. And everything was fine. I used what I had learned from the tips to scope out my own locations. Up through California, Oregon and Washington to British Columbia and back. The “worst” thing was that a couple of the spots had noisy traffic late into the night and/or early in the morning. Yeah, well, civilization.

These are the places I streetdocked. It doesn’t include places I boondocked, a hotel stay, a free campground, and friends’ places.

As I said earlier, I had assumed urban areas (especially the wealthy ones) were hostile to vehicle dwellers, while rural areas were more commodious. So when I left the Coast to go to Flagstaff I expected no trouble when I parked between a church and playing field in Tehachapi. But two hours later there was The Knock. The officer informed me sleeping in vehicles was prohibited. As he checked my ID another officer arrived. Then another. Were they expecting trouble? Were they going to start some? Did they simply have nothing else to do?

After determining I had no outstanding warrants and that I was just a harmless old man passing through, they told me it was okay to sleep at the truck stop just outside the city limits. 

So as I dozed off to the sounds of idling semis and passing trains I thought about the irony of it all. And I thought about returning to the coast after I finish helping my Flagstaff friend.